MY WORKS OF LITERATURE
A Selection
VIGNETTE 1
We didn’t know if it was real. I was listening to music when the voice came over the loudspeaker and announced that we were in lockdown. I was in the writing lab at the time. There were four other students and two aides to help us with work. The writing aides were pleasant to be around, but the four other students were all younger than me and one had a bad mouth. Of course, after the announcement of the lockdown one of the students asked an aide if it was a drill. She didn’t know.
All the aides knew was that since it was a lockdown, they had to turn off the lights and lock the door. The only problem was they couldn’t secure the door. Something was wrong with the bolt. The aides looked worried, and the other students started to panic. The one with the bad mouth said, “If I’m going to die, I’m going to die with my fucking phone.”
We weren’t allowed our phones in writing lab. We had to put them in a basket by the door, but I rarely ever did so because my phone doesn’t distract me much. As soon as that kid with the bad mouth got up to get his, I did the same. After a couple seconds the other kids followed and we were all on our phones texting friends to find out whether this was a real lockdown or not. I texted two of my friends. One didn’t respond at all but the other said he didn’t know and neither did his classmates. It seemed as if all our friends were confused. Then we heard a loud “bang” that came from the direction of the parking lot.
It sounded like the crack of a gun, but we weren’t sure. Everyone in the room started to freak out. Even the aides looked nervous. I tried not to panic. I thought if I didn’t lose my cool, maybe it would help calm down the others. At least that’s what I think I was thinking. In reality, I was most likely too scared to react. After many terror-stricken minutes we heard footsteps in the hallway. The footsteps were approaching our room. We saw the shadow at the bottom of the door. The knob turned and the door opened. We held our collective breath. Then the secretary stood facing us and said, “The drill is over now. Everything can get back to normal.”
VIGNETTE 2
“Thank you, Henry.”
“Is that all you want?” Henry asks handing his friend a coffee.
“Yes, thanks.”
“Alright.”
“Slow night?”
“Yeah. Nobody seems to be out and about.”
“Do you think it has anything to do with the recent shooting?”
“Maybe, but it’s not unusual for the streets to be this empty. You just don’t come for coffee this late at night.”
“True.”
“Plus, you and I have had our fair share of shootings in our time.”
“Heh, yeah. Never stopped us before.”
“It’s pretty late, why don’t you seem tired?”
“Hey, I’m not old enough to be going to bed before midnight. Also, with this coffee I’m not going to need to sleep for a while.”
Henry chuckles, “Alright then do you think you can keep watch for me?”
“For customers?”
“Yeah, unlike you I’m ready to pass out and I’m just going to take this peace and quiet as an opportunity to sleep. Can I trust you to watch the shop, Fred?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. If anyone comes, I’ll be in the back.”
Henry disappears into the back of the diner. After a minute or two Fred finishes his coffee and reads the paper that he brought with him. He sits there and reads for another couple of minutes. He flips through the pages. It’s all just boring stories and trash ads. He settles upon a page that has the title, ‘Are the Gang Wars Becoming To Much for the Police?’
While the title is an interesting one, Fred is just concerned about its grammar.
“Who let this go through? Did no one proofread this? Jesus, the papers barely care what the hell they’re writing anymore.” Disgusted by its lack of professionalism, Fred puts the paper down and looks over the counter into the back of the diner. He can hear Henry snoring. ‘He’s literally asleep in the kitchen where all the food is cooked. It must be filthy.’ Not willing to disrupt Henry’s nap, he turns around and stares out the large windows of the diner. He grows uneasy.
It’s dark outside and there are not that many lights to brighten up the sidewalks. Fred leans back and thinks. It starts to rain. After a while a young kid, a teenager, runs through the illuminated parts of the sidewalk. He’s running over to the diner. The kid’s sneakers are getting wet as he runs through the puddles on the sidewalk. He’s doing a full-on sprint up to the main door and swings it open.
“Don’t tell them I’m here!” The kid exclaims.
“Uh-“ Before Fred could say anything the kid jumps over the counter and hides from sight. “Hey, wait-“ starts Fred.
“Please, Mister. Act like I’m not here. Please.”
A moment of silence and anxiety coats the diner. Then Fred sees two headlights come around the corner of the street down the road. The car slowly drives towards Fred and parks right on the sidewalk that borders the diner, even though there is a parking lot next-door. Five men get out of the car; four with obvious weapons.
“It looks like you made someone angry, kid. Jesus.” Fred whispers. There is a young man who walks at the front of the group. He seems to be in his early to mid-twenties. He enters the diner first with two others following behind him. The other two men who did not enter the diner hold the largest of the group’s weapons. One man has a metal bat with a dent in it, the other man is holding a crowbar. Fred could guess why they remained outside; they’re on watch duty. The two that followed the leader inside were probably there for more than just moral support too.
“Hey.” Says the man at the front of the group. “You seen a kid run in here?”
“A kid?” asks Fred. “No.”
“Are you sure?”
“I didn’t see anyone come by.”
The man smiles. “Alright, man, I get it. You see all of us and you get a little intimidated. We’re not gonna hurt you at all. We're just looking for the kid.”
Fred leans back on the counter calmly and says, “You don’t intimidate me. I never saw anyone, so I don’t have any reason to worry.”
“Oh, come on. You didn’t see anyone?”
“No.”
“You’re telling me you saw no kid run down this street?”
“Nope.”
“What’s your name?”
“Why? Why do you need my name?”
“Hmm. You seem to be a little on the defensive.” The man smirks. He walks up to Fred. “I mean there’s no reason to be. I just want to know your name. We’re just having a conversation.” Fred stops leaning on the counter. The man gets closer. “What’s your name?” The man gets right in front of Fred, mere inches from his face.
“I don’t know, but I would like to know yours since your getting so close. You want to kiss me or something?” Fred asked pushing the man back; hoping he didn’t see the kid hiding behind the counter.
The man backs up, put off by Fred’s comment more than the physical push. The two men behind him are holding their weapons, ready to attack if needed. No longer with a smirk on his face the man grabs a seat at one of the diner’s tables. “Come here,” says the man. “Let’s just talk on the same level for a bit.”
“What about them?” Asks Fred, gesturing to the two other members just left standing in the middle of the diner.
“They can sit down on the opposite side of room. It’ll just be you and me.”
Fred moves from his spot next to the counter and walks over to the table. The man points at the chair on the opposite side of the table and says, “Let’s just talk.” Fred doesn’t sit down. “I don’t like having my back to your baddies.”
The man looks over to his ‘baddies’. They look at Fred with hostile glares; then back at the man in charge. “Alright,” says the man. He stands up and moves his chair to the side of the table. Fred moves his chair as well. Now with the baddies perpendicular to Fred and their leader, he sits down.
“So, you comfortable now?” Asks the man.
“Enough.” Replies Fred.
“Well, then, just do us and yourself a favor and tell us where’s the kid at.”
“I would but the problem is, I haven’t seen any kid come by. No one has even been in here tonight.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
The man reaches into his baggy jacket and takes out a pistol. He lays it on the table, in front of Fred. “Ok, how ‘bout now? Maybe, you’ll remember the kid?” Fred looks at the guy with a dull face.
“What’s your name?”
“Jason. And yours old man?”
“Fred. How old are you Jason?”
Jason chuckles, “Twenty-Four.”
“I’m fifty-four. Let me tell you something, whatever gang you’re in, if you don’t leave it behind soon you’ll never make it out.”
“What? You don’t have any clue what you’re talking about. We pledge ourselves to our gang for life.”
“Then it will be short. I got out and I’m trying to give you a chance to now.”
“Where’s the kid?” Jason asks just as Fred pulls a switchblade out from his trench coat. Fred lunges himself across the table. Then Jason’s gun goes off in the commotion. Fred lies on the ground in a puddle of blood. Lying next to him is Jason, a young man dying with the switchblade lodged right above his Adam’s apple. The two baddies at the opposite end of diner charge Fred but out of the kitchen comes Henry. With a double barrel-shotgun in hand, Henry pulls the trigger and blows the first baddie away. The other one scrambles for the door but that’s when Henry lets the other barrel empty into the frightened fellow.
Henry reloads both barrels while the two on watch duty dash for their car. Henry steps out of the diner. The kid from behind the counter runs over to Fred. “What should I do?”
Fred murmurs, “Call the police.”
“But you guys just killed people.”
In the background, Fred and the kid can hear the tires squeal as Henry discharges the round into the fleeing car. Henry walks back into the diner.
Fred moans, “We’ll just say they tried to rob us.”
“The cops will also be able to find the bastards now that they have holes in their car.” Henry reassures.
The kid runs over to the phone on the wall and dials the police. Fred props himself up, back against the wall.
“You alright?” asks Henry.
“Yeah, I just need to rest.” Fred said. He then looks up at the ceiling and stares into one of the diner’s flickering lights; and closes his eyes, relaxed.
VIGNETTE 3
“I was reading the newspaper and I was frightened because I thought someone was behind
me.”
“Behind you? Come on, Frannie. Maybe it wasn’t someone behind you, but you just got that
feeling because someone was thinking of you.”
“I don’t know how comforting that thought is either.”
“Would it be more comforting if I told you I was thinking of you?”
“Well…” Frannie paused biting down on one of her fingernails. “Maybe.”
“I can feel your smile through the phone. You have nothing to worry about. Plus, I live two
doors down. If anyone wanted to get to you, I’d see them pass by.”
“What if they’re coming from the other side of the block and didn’t have to pass your house
to reach mine?”
“If you’re worried that might happen Fran, then why don’t you stay on the phone with me?”
“Alright. So how was your weekend?”
“It went swell. It was very calm and lovely out, so I went for a stroll.”
“Oh, where’d you go?”
“Yesterday I passed by the Adkin’s house and I could hear them having one of their daily
rows.”
“Didn’t I see you talk to Mrs. Adkins at church yesterday too?”
“Yes, well, I was being a bit inquisitive and asked about her and husband’s latest quarrel. I
had no clue I’d be waylaying myself just by making sure everything was O.K. She poured her
frustrations out to me, then and there.”
“Oh, Mr. Langley, you should know better than to get into other's business.”
“I understood that shortly after she started ranting to me. I should have known Mr. Adkins
was lurking nearby, of course. He-“
“It’s mass, George, everyone and their grandmother attends.”
“Yes, well, it was still a startling thing when Mr. Adkins barged into the conversation and
told the missus to go to the car.”
“Now you’ve done it.”
“Sure did. Mr. Adkins had some choice words for me. Even threatened me if I got into their
business again.”
“I already can tell that threat didn’t stop you, did it?”
“You got that right. His threats only made me more meddlesome.”
“Please tell me how you’ve dug yourself an even deeper hole.”
“I went snooping.”
“Of course, you did. Where? Their house?”
“Yes.”
“That was foolish of you.”
“Yes, but I argue that it was more foolish that Mrs. Adkins let me in.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“She let you in after he argued with you.”
“Yes, reluctantly.”
“God. Well, what did you find out?”
“Truthfully?”
“Yes.”
“Nothing. She actually said less to me than when we spoke at church.”
“Hmm. Anything out of place? Or any weapons in the house that the mister might use on
the missus if an argument got out of hand?”
“I mean, his rifle was there but that’s for deer, not people.”
“No blunt objects or bloodied anything?”
“No.”
“Then honestly, George, I think you’re making a fuss over nothing. Mr. Adkins might not be
as bad as we expected.”
“How can you say that with all the constant yelling from the house?”
“Well, he may give her a talking to, but I don’t believe I’ve ever seen her with a bruise or a
black eye.”
“I don’t know, Frannie. Mrs. Adkins was acting sort of anxious. I’m sure she was sweating.”
“Where was Mr. Adkins?”
“Now that you mention it, I haven’t a clue.”
“That’s odd. He only leaves her alone when he’s out hunting, right.”
“Yeah.”
“If he was out hunting then, well, wouldn’t he need his gun?”
“Yeah, but his rifle was at the house.”
“Exactly. I bet that’s why she was so quiet George.”
“I-Hold on, Frannie. I think I just heard something out back. I’ll be right back.”
“Oh. Make it quick, George. I don’t like being left alone.” Frannie hears George lay down
the phone on a hard surface. She wonders if the phone is lying on that small coffee table she
remembered seeing in the living room last time she visited. Frannie’s thoughts are interrupted by
her corgi. “Are you hungry, Lion? Shall I get you some supper?”
“All right. I’m back.”
“…”
“Frannie?”
“...”
“Frannie?”
“Yes, yeah. Sorry. I just needed to feed Lion.”
“Oh, O.K. I can’t be upset at that. Lion’s a growing pup.”
“So, what were we saying?”
“I think I need to go back to the Adkins house, again. I need to talk Mrs. Adkins when Mr.
Adkins isn’t there.”
“Are you sure you want to risk it, George?”
“Fran, the risk is worth the reward.”
“You get too invested in other people’s lives.”
“I’m just having my own adventure in the suburbs.”
“Well, tell me how it goes, daredevil.”
“Alright, Fran, I’ll let you know what I uncover,” George responds. He then goes to put the
receiver on the rotary box but hears a voice speak out from the darkness.
“No. You won’t.”
“What? How-“
“George? George? George!” Frannie cries into the phone, only to hear the sound of a
struggle on the other side. She throws down the phone and runs out her front door without
stopping to put on her shoes.
A thunderous crackling comes from George’s house. The sound of Mr. Adkin’s hunting rifle
ricochets throughout the neighborhood. Frannie swings open the door to find George, unharmed
but gasping for air. On the floor, Mr. Adkins relinquishes his last breath. Standing in the hallway
betwixt the front door and the living room is Mrs. Adkins. Dropping her husband’s rifle onto the
floor, Mrs. Adkins falls to her knees and laments.
CONFLICTED LOVE
A Poem
The first day I met you, I hated you.
You held different beliefs than I.
Immediately you, in my mind, became an opponent.
Then I realized how much you cared for people.
How your loyalty was unbreakable.
How you share your opinions in a calm but assertive manner.
When a combatant questions your ideals you stand steadfast through the bombardment.
The more I talked to you, the more I admired you. The more time I spent with you, the more time I wanted to get lost with you.
I thought I had a fondness for you. I thought I was just a friend appreciating another friend.
Soon, I recognized I had become jealous, not of you but of the people close to you.
I knew if I were to communicate my feelings about you to you or the others close to you, I’d be doing everyone a disservice.
All I can do is remain mute. Tongue-tied by the fear of the consequences.
I pushed away all concepts of me ending up with you.
If I held any belief that you and I would one day be a joint party of affection, I tried to discard of it.
The first day I met the real you, I loved you.